


Golden Feathers

by antivanwarden



Series: The Griffin of Enna [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Scene, Denial of Feelings, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Fluff and Angst, Post-Canon, original storyline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-04-27 11:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14424576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antivanwarden/pseuds/antivanwarden
Summary: This is collection of ficlets from the On Griffin's Wings series where I either wanted to add something but it never seemed to have a place in the main story or alternative versions of what happen in the main story.





	1. Sharp Starts

He knew from the moment he rode beyond the gates of the city that something about it was wrong. It wasn't the relative comfort level the townspeople had with his presence, although that was certainly something in itself. Nothing visibly out of the ordinary despite the ever present storm that seemed to loom overhead, his medallion pulsed against his chest so strongly it almost became a second heartbeat. But now, ducking in the shadows of the wharf's underbelly and trying to put a dent in the growing drowner problem that every sailor swore happened each time high tide was paired with a storm, he knew it was something else entirely.

“Usually Madam Lamonia just takes care of it for us,” one of the dockhands shrugged, “Foreman gives her a good rate per head, I hear.”

“Yeah,” another agreed, “After about thirty or so, he comes and counts the bodies with 'er. But we haven't seen 'er in awhile, been out of town on some quest. Looks real like she's tryin' to find somethin'.”

The foreman had been more than happy to pass this arrangement off to him instead, although the seemed visibly shaken with the difference. It was something the witcher had grown used to, his appearance much rougher than most. His bright, cat-like eyes were often enough to make someone uneasy and he would be the first to admit that the scar on his face was so deep his upper lip always seemed to be pulled up into a snarl certainly didn't set most at ease. The foreman had practically shuddered when he met the witcher's eyes for the first time and quickly broke the eye contact, shifting in his seat as he asked for a name.

“Eskel.”

The foreman snorted, still not looking directly at Eskel.“Yer more what they say about you witchers. Got the puss peepers and everything. She's got...something, alright.” He smirked, and slight darting of the man's tongue to lick his lip didn't escape Eskel's notice.“Not like any cats I've ever seen, though.”

“There's a witcher who lives here?”

“Yeah, but she's been real jumpy lately. Think she's got scent of somethin' interestin'.”

He made a mental note to go see if this woman was home before he left town in the coming days and thanked the foreman for the information before seeing to his task. It was simple enough, work that a witcher could find in practically any country with large bodies of water- or even small ones. While that was true enough, it was a spoken truth among witchers that Kovir and Poviss was often the best country to accept contracts, the pockets of residents deep and more than willing to pay what they saw as a handful of coin to make problems go away.

“One of the guards said he found a body this morning,” he over heard one of the dock workers mutter to another after verifying the work was done with the foreman. “Bloody mess she was. Poor girl, some noble's daughter or somethin'.”

A faint pulse from his medallion. Eskel ignored it at first, lingering for a few moments to see if the dockhands would say anything else. When the topic of conversation instead turned to what still needed to be done now that the sun was starting to set, he sighed and resigned himself instead to seeing if he could find out what he could about this lady witcher the dockhands mentioned.

Again his medallion pulsed, more persistent this time, just as he passed the mayor's office. A single scream tore through the chilled air and he broke into an easy run, skidding to a halt in front of the gates of a private road leading to a manor set back in the hills. A young woman lay on her back, arms pressed together above her in an effort to defend herself. The smell of blood hung heavily in the air, almost palpable. Not far from her was a sword that glowed a faint red along the otherwise glistening blade. Pinning the woman to the ground was what he guessed was a bruxa.

It had paid him no mind when he entered the courtyard, instead letting out a screech as the woman tried to kick at it. One hand already reaching for his silver sword while another felt in one of his pockets for a bomb to gain the lower vampire's attention. The woman screamed when the creature tore into her neck with its teeth, holding tight even when she struggled.

“Close your eyes!”

He called, tossing a samum and knowing full well that the flash would do little to harm the creature. The woman did as told with something of a muffled whimper. The vampire screamed in response, hurrying back from the woman in a hurried blur. He quickly traced aard in the air, hurrying forward as he drew his silver sword, and managing to knock the bruxa off of her feet. It glared at Eskel even as he drove his sword into its chest, screaming and squirming until the life fully drained from it. Muttering a curse under his breath, he withdrew his sword and didn't bother to wipe it clean before sheathing it and turning his attention to the woman.

A row of deep claw marks across her chest, her metal studded leather vest had been torn as easily as though she had been wearing nothing. Though weak, her searching fingers had managed to find clumsy purchase on the hilt of her sword. Kneeling to her level, he pried her fingers loose from her sword and instead slid it into place in the sheath on her back. Tearing a strip of fabric off the already shredded sleeve of her shirt, he pressed it against her neck. Noticing a thick chain, he gave it a soft tug and blinked at the griffin head medallion that slipped out from under the high collar of her vest.

“Would explain how she's even still alive,” Eskel muttered to himself, adjusting his grip so he could slip an arm under the woman's shoulders and the other under her knees. He smirked when she pushed against him stubbornly, but he only tightened his grip. “Stay still, little fledgling. You're lucky to even be breathing.” She gave him a weakened version of a scowl before going limp in his arms.

_Cerissa._ The blade had read in the common alphabet, a variant of a name from Toussaint if he remembered right.

_Let's get you home_ , he sighed, not being able to shake the growing tension in his shoulders.

This was far more than an inexperienced witcher being caught off guard, more than a simple case of him being in the right place at the wrong time. And were it any other time and almost any other witcher, it would have been the perfect opportunity to invoke an old tradition in trade for her life. But the scar that sent a shiver down the spine of most who interacted with him was enough to prove what could sometimes happen with that old tradition. An explanation, he decided, would be enough.

Fate, he had to admit, had a sometimes cruel way of working when least expected.

 

 

Returning to the square after knowing Cerissa was getting the attention she needed for her injuries, Eskel sighed at the guard that visibly puffed up after closing the manor's private lane gate closed behind him.

“And am I to assume this is your doing?”

“No,” he shook his head, deciding it better to lie for her to salvage any reputation she may have. “It was Lady Lamonia's.”

The guard regarded him with a long, even look for several moments before turning back to the bruxa's corpse. Side torn open from an advantageous blow, it was the clean pierce through the heart he had delivered that killed it. Eskel noted with some level of amusement that the fingers of one hand were missing nearly the entire first digit. The coppery smell of blood filled the square, a dark spot on the paving stones where Cerissa lay.

To her credit, Cerissa had put up the best fight she could.

And yet, it wasn't good enough. Not nearly where a witcher on their own should have been capable of doing. It painted a troubling picture, one where if pressed he would guess she had no choice but to manage as best she could. It couldn't be entirely her fault, either. It didn't escape his notice that despite Kovir and Poviss being a neutral country, there were several witch hunters about that city or that the city was built over a complex maze of tunnels and sewer passages. To live so brazenly open about what she was with the hunters present was mildly impressive, and yet he had to wonder what she had done to earn the ire of the bruxa.

Or why there was one so willing to expose themselves in the open.

“And where is the witcheress?” The guard snorted.

“Back at home. She was badly injured and needed medical attention.”

The man nodded, allowing the explanation to be enough. When he spoke again, his voice was softened. “I was one of the people who pooled money to give her a reward for killing it- killed two boys before she returned to town. If you could, take the coin to her.”

“Would be my honor.”

 

 

That evening as Cerissa slept, the majordomo had approached Eskel to offer his own reward for saving his mistress. The older man's face was lined with deep wrinkles, eyes starting to cloud around the edges and though he stood proudly with his hands clasped behind his back, Eskel could see he would begin to tremble from fatigue if staying still for longer than a few moments. His thinned, grayed hair was combed neatly out of his face and a delicate set of wire spectacles sat balanced at the end of his nose.

“I know the mistress shared the bounty from the kill, but,” the man sighed, relaxing his stance once he stepped into the foyer, “It's obvious from the way you look at her that you had another price in mind as well.” Antony's smile was soft when Eskel hesitated for a moment, “I have feeling I know what you're going to say, but: name your price.”

He debated for a few beats how he wanted how to soften the one word that came to mind but instead sighed and resigned himself to the fact there was no way to do so. “Her.” Antony, to his credit, didn't even blink, but nodded. “It's...not quite what you might think. Could care less about her money or political influence- tend to avoid all that anyway. It's-”

“You're interested in her.”

His brow creased, a small scowl starting to tug at his lips. He wasn't used to being read so easily. “Well, yes, but more I'm concerned about-”

“You don't have to hide behind pretenses. She's young, clever, and beautiful. And why else would you worry over a complete stranger? Solidarity of your trade aside, I know there's something else you had in mind. I'll agree on one condition: Cerissa has to agree as well.”

Eskel stared at the man for a moment before breaking into a a full laugh that filled the room. “Sorry, but you think I want to marry her?”

“You don't?”

“No,” he calmed himself after a few moments, “At least, it's not what I had planned. Was actually more concerned about her ability as a witcher. She's relatively new, it's easy to see, and she started late from what she told me. So I had something else in mind.”

“I see, well, same terms apply: she has to agree as well.”

“Something tells me she won't be that hard to persuade.”

“Then you don't know my Cerissa,” Antony grinned.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This collection is slowly turning into me just retelling pivotal moments from the main story with focused from another character's POV. I'm going to try and reorder them as I write them to be in story order, but we'll see. Also this is a side project so I really don't have an update schedule planned- it'll just happen as I get ideas. <3


	2. Of These Chains

Eskel wasn't sure how it even started, or when for that matter. It was a creeping feeling that had managed to settle in his chest when he was least expecting it, making him feel as though he was looking for something that wasn't even missing. One morning an ache had formed that while he had felt it before, previous times it had been easy enough to ignore or drown out with something else. Yet it was the smallest of things he wouldn't have otherwise paid attention to that made the ache grow worse each time she met his eye and flashed a small smile.

No, he had to correct himself. He knew when it started. The first time she was listening to a peasant talk about a missing lover, she crossed her arms against her chest and glanced at him during a pause in conversation as if to ask for his input though Cerissa had decided to take on the job herself. That small quirk of her eyebrow was enough to say she trusted him and although it was an expression he had seen her wear several times before, suddenly it seemed to carry so much more weight.

And it settled heavily in his chest, catching his breath for a moment.

Easy enough to ignore, the want was something he was familiar with from years past. But with each night he sat across from a campfire and watched her clean her swords or work on her brews, the same feeling came back with more force. It pushed against his ribs, clouded his mind for a moment. It the manifestation of wanting to do something possibly dangerous, the same feeling before jumping into a dark pool of water without knowing what was waiting for him at the bottom.

But it was just Cerissa, he told himself as he watched the firelight dance in her eyes.

She would sometimes talk while she worked and while Eskel would usually be one of the first to admit he preferred a comfortable silence, there was something about the silence recently that made him uneasy. There was one night that she sang a popular bard's song to herself during her watch and while the tale it told was nothing new to him, he found it harder to feign being asleep when he was focusing so intently on the slight lilt of her voice.

 

 

Eskel smiled softly now as he watched Cerissa, perched on a rickety wooden stool in her study with one book balanced precariously on a knee while a nearby stack of tomes both old and new served as a stand for another. Hair pulled back in something that resembled a bun by what he hoped wasn't just a piece of dried sinew she had laying around, she wore her preferred goggles to keep the fumes that were making her nose run from burning her eyes. She was speaking idly about what she was making, more reading the recipe aloud to herself, but it wasn't until she asked him to hand her one of the jars on a shelf nearby that he realized his thoughts had wandered.

“Eskel? Are you alright?” She turned, one hand holding the book on her knee in place. “You've been distant all evening. It's not like you.” She shook her head with a small laugh, holding her place in the book with her finger, and got up to retrieve the jar herself. “You should go get some rest if you're tired,” the jar tucked under her arm, she clapped one hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently when she brushed past him.

He held back the impulse to reach up and hold her hand in place as it slipped from his shoulder, hoping the frustrated sigh he let out was silent. How this sensation wasn't bothering her was beyond him. Eskel was sure the forceful thudding of his heart was enough to distract her, but Cerissa had either gotten used to the sound or chose not to mention it. Again the room was silent save for the soft scraping of Cerissa grinding a few of the leaves from the jar with a stone mortar and pestle before dumping them into the pot.

It had been a few days since the two returned to the manor and while Cerissa had settled easily enough back into her daily routines, he could tell something had changed in her. The focus in her eyes was much more difficult to break, her hands mostly still at her sides or in her lap when idle. She began to hum quietly as she worked and again his mind wandered.

It was easy to tell, now, that this ache had become a permanent fixture only a week or two earlier. There was something about having this younger witcher explore the keep he had called home for so long, having her excited gasps and small laughs with each small mystery she uncovered fill each room she was in, that almost made him offer her a place in his room instead of in the main hall. And when he carefully tugged the book from under her fingers, he had taken a moment to sit next to her cot.

Even asleep there was a soft smile on her lips, mumbling something when Eskel disturbed the tome, but had gotten comfortable again just as quickly. It was in that moment he sighed and didn't stop himself from brushing a few stray hairs out of her face. In her sleep she had gripped his hand when it drifted from her cheek and had finally given him a name for this yearning. From stories he had heard, he expected the revelation to maybe feel more like a huge change but instead it felt more like a soft shift, like resetting his stance during a fight or adjusting his grip on his sword. 

“I adore you,” he muttered so quietly he wasn't sure he had said anything to begin with.

 

 

“Eskel,” Cerissa called again, making him blink in surprise and shake his head to clear his thoughts. “Go get some rest, you've been nodding off for the past hour. I won't be up much longer. Just until this is done simmering.”

 _I could wait and you could just come with me._ He and Cerissa were no strangers to passing long nights together, but tonight he wanted her in his bed all the same. Not to have her leave nail marks down his back or him to mark her with misshapen red splotches down her neck and chest, but just to have her near. He wanted her close, if only just to feel the warm puff of her breath or listen to the soft rhythm of her calmed heartbeat. He scowled, dismissing the thought. “I'll wait for you.”

“Go,” her voice was firm but she was smiling, the fire over her shoulder catching in her eyes and making them sparkle. She knew, she had to know. She had to see it clearly on his face and yet she waved him off as if trying to brush dust away with her hand, “Go on.”

“As you wish,” he sighed, again holding back the impulse to add something in a soft mutter to himself.

_She'll know soon enough, after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name of this ficlet is taken from the song by Red of the same name. I think of theses two when I hear the chorus.


	3. A Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The draft version of how a griffin and wolf admitted feelings for each other.

Tucked into the corner of the inn away from the majority of curious eyes, Cerissa dodged even the careful gaze of Eskel. Eyes trained instead on the almost colorless liquid in her cup, she hadn't looked up at him since making eye contact with Olwen on the other side of the hall. Sipping at her preferred poison, a Nilfgaardian lemon, she felt as though every eye in the room was on the two though most were too drunk to take much notice of another pair of people with weapons. The group at the table from across the aisle grumbled something, she hadn't quite caught it, but her attention was elsewhere.

Since meeting Olwen and traveling with her to stave off loneliness since she parted ways with her former tutor, the two had been writing letters whenever they could manage to find someway to send it and a location to have it sent to. Those letters, though often almost illegible from the ink smearing or water nearly washing it off the parchment, were something she looked forward to every time a courier would approach her. Most of them were just updates and relevant information she might want to know but just knowing he was doing okay had become so much of a comfort that Olwen had taken it upon herself to tease Cerissa each time she popped a wax seal or reread an old one she had stashed in her bags.

Cerissa had started to read them at night during her watch shift when the chance of being teased was much lower.

“What's on your mind?”

The gentle question broke through her reverie long enough for her to glance up at him, then almost immediately drop her gaze to her cup again and take a sip.

_You._

She shook her head instead, dropping it into her hands and rubbing at her temples. She forced herself to take a deep breath, opening her mouth to say something and closing it instead.

“Just thinking way too much for my own damned good,” she grumbled.

“About?” She groaned in response. “No one cares what we're talking about, Cerissa,” he lowered his voice and leaned forward the slightest bit to try get her to look up, brushing her chin with a hand and frowning when she jerked away.

“What...what am I to you?” She finally looked up at him, hands now clutching her cup to try to hide the slight shake they had gained.

The frown on his lips melted into the same blank expression that she had yet to learn what it meant. She only had learned it was usually timed with when he was trying to hide his own thoughts so she didn't feel any pressure to react to him. Part of him wished they were back in the relative safety of her study behind heavy wooden doors where she was most comfortable. During those two months at her manor before taking her out in search of contracts she spoke much more and freely than the months following. Under the perceived gaze of an unfamiliar crowd, her act of the proud witcher went into full effect and she became much more choosing of her words.

Except this time he could tell his measured reactions were doing nothing to ease her discomfort. He had to wonder if it really was the curious gazes of onlookers or the perverted comments some of the men made regarding her having two blades that made her this way.

He sighed, instead offering a small smile. The slight quickening of her heartbeat almost made him smile wider, knowing already why she was asking.

“Well, little fledgling,” she smiled slightly at his old nickname for her, lowering his voice even more to just above a whisper. “What would you like to be?”

She blinked, fighting the urge to look down again.

_Eyes up._

_I'm using witcher training to do...whatever this is,_ she scolded herself and almost glanced over at Olwen.

_Eyes on me._

_I'm using those words to speak to the damned man who said them,_ she inwardly groaned but clenched her jaw and said a silent prayer to anything that could be listening.

“I-” she stopped herself, instead reaching across the table. He flinched for a moment, not able to hide the surprise in his eyes when she gripped the chain of his necklace and yanked him forward. She leaned in, catching him by surprise yet again when he felt her breath on his lips.

But she hesitated, like so many times before she stopped just short. Something stirred in him, resisting the urge to close the small gap between them. She gripped the chain tighter, biting at her lip and he could tell she was debating backing out. Her nerves were starting to get the better of her but just as he did with her training, he would let her decide.

Just sometimes she needed a not so silent push.

He slipped a hand over hers.

“Do it.”

It was a challenge, and given any other circumstance she would rise to it. But he doubted she would with-

Shutting her eyes and trying her best to block out the noise, she finally kissed him. Quick enough to not draw more attention, she just as quickly pulled away and let go of his necklace. In the next instant she got to her feet and tried to hurry over to Olwen.  
  
“Sorry!”

Eskel sighed and caught her wrist as she passed.

She froze, dreading the next words out of him. “Sorry, just forget that happened. I didn't-”

“Three months ago we sat next to each other watching the dying coals of a fire,” he started, tugging her down to sit next to him. She grudgingly obliged, glancing over her shoulder at Olwen who now stared with wide eyes but stuck her tongue out at Cerissa. “You spoke so easily about how you wanted to taste wine in Toussaint other than Everluce and participate in a tourney.” He smiled softly but her brow furrowed, not seeing his point. “You looked up to measure my expression and immediately told me to forget you said anything. My question, Cerissa, is who or what made you feel like this?”

“Like what?”

“That any emotion not stolen by your mutations is pointless.” He took a dramatically deep breath, “You're ashamed to admit you want something.” She stayed quiet, reaching across the table for the remainder of drink but not taking a sip. “We're still human to some level,” he added after a few long moments when she didn't say anything.

So many questions stirred inside her but none of them seemed important to ask. Here she was, sixteen again and being lectured by her teacher. Her mind flashed back to the girl who scowled as she rubbed her aching knuckles that had gotten hit with a wooden sword when she was first learning how to parry, how vulnerable she had felt when the day came for her to undergo the trial that would make her a “real” witcher. All the bluster and pride in her abilities had vanished the second the first restraint was put in place.

But now she sat wearing armor worth more than most people in the room made in a year with blades that had killed monsters she didn't even flinch when she faced. She had faced werewolves and forktails without hesitation but the man sitting next to her gave her enough pause that she got lost in her own thoughts.

“You'd think after a year it'd be easier to talk to you.”

“You'd think after a year you'd learn the others in the room don't care what you say,” he shook his head, “It's only when there's others around us that you get nervous.”

“You always do that,” she feigned pouting, pressing her lips into a thin line. There was a few moments of silence before she sighed, “Eskel?”

“Hm?”

“So where does this leave us?”

“So we return to the original question,” he mused.

“I-” she stopped herself, choosing her words carefully.

“Just talk. I promise no one is listening to two freaks like us debate our potential sex life,” he finally sighed, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Pretend we're in your study or camped out by the side of the road if you need to.”

“Who said anything about sex?”

“So you're saying it's more than my stunning good looks that leave you tongue tied?” He quirked an eyebrow at her and she couldn't help but laugh.

“Some ladies love scars,” she shrugged. “Let them know their potential mate has...” she searched for the right word, “Experience.”

“And apparently you're one of them,” he rolled his eyes.

She chose to ignore him. “I have a question, if you don't mind me asking.”

“I'm listening.”

“...Do I not make you nervous? At all?”

“Cerissa,” he sighed, reaching out to tuck a strand of stray hair behind her ear. “There is a sense of awe each time I watch you strain your back over a batch of potion or poultice because it comes so easily to you. You cast signs without thinking about focusing energy or how even to draw the shape with your fingers. You make the way you prefer to use your skills look as effortless as drawing breath, the same you have said when you watch me practice sword drills.”

“You almost look like your dancing sometimes,” she nodded in agreement, more thinking out loud.

“And I watch and marvel at how alive you look in that moment you know a fight is over before the final blow. That confidence you have in your craft, even before I started filling in the blanks, is what makes me listen when you talk and have patience when you stop from a full gallop to cut some leaves off a patch of plants by the road I would have otherwise ignored.”

“But you don't get nervous like I do,” she challenged.

“I do,” he admitted, “But I've learned there is something more important than the worry you'll reject me. I offered my help and you accepted it. You let me into your home and opened up. I decided early on that even if the feeling wasn't mutual that being anything to you was enough.” A soft smile played at his lips, the same smile he knew she enjoyed seeing.

“Never took you for the romantic.”

“Then that's one more thing you've haven't been paying attention to.”

“Taking a woman to a field at midnight to banish the tortured soul of a young woman who was killed there doesn't count as romance, Eskel.”

“I don't know, I got a pretty great view of a strong young griffin testing her wings from where I was standing,” he laughed and a small blush lit her cheeks. “You don't realize how often I pause to watch you, Cerissa. Although I have a question for you.”

“What's that?”

“When we first met, you asked how old I was. There's a more than fifty year difference between us. That's not odd in any way?”

She shrugged, “We're witchers. We're not exactly mortal, so I figured time means something different to us. Plus, experience.”

“Experi-oh.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Unbelievable.”

“I'll admit, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it,” Cerissa downed the rest of her drink.

“And yet you hesitated to even kiss me.”

“I hesitated to make even more a spectacle out of two mutants with swords in a busy tavern.” she corrected, mimicking how often did the same.

“So you're saying if we were anywhere else there would have been no hesitation?” She smiled in response. “That,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “I would like to see.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not here, please.”

“You said you didn't want to make a spectacle yet,” he gently tugged at her necklace, imitating how she pulled him close but with much less force. It was just enough to make her look at him. “You almost choke me, then hold me there while you debate following through.” There was something about the way she froze that he savored, watching her fight to stay together, and let go of her necklace.

“You make me feel human,” she muttered, then blinked as though surprised she had said anything, pulling out of the ever tightening space between them.

He reached around her, pressing a hand against the back of her head enough to make her lean back in. “Then stop running.”

She smirked, this time not hesitating and not caring about the hooting that followed from a few onlookers when they kissed. She could vaguely make out Olwen calling “About time!” at the two. Were it not for his fingers curled into her hair, she would have scowled.

“So much for not making scene,” she pulled away enough to speak.

“We could always go somewhere else, if you'd prefer.”

She laughed when he released his grip on her, then got up and tugged at his arm. “Come on, there's an actual bed calling our names.”

“Ladies first,” he grinned, standing before dipping into an overly dramatic bow.

“Age before beauty, old man.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the alternate version of Cerissa and Eskel confessing to each other, had OGW played out the way I originally planned with her meeting Olwen at the border of Kovir and just traveling with Olwen for some time before going home. But Cerissa had plans of her own, so while some dialogue from this got reused, but otherwise this version went unused. I'd like to think Cerissa's personality is much different in the "canon" story, not so jumpy around Eskel and much more sure of herself. Olwen, of course, still teases the two senseless, but the actual story feels more like the gentle prodding of a sister. I still have a fondness of this version of their mutual confession, but I also like how their relationship evolved in the actual story with seeking physical comfort in each other before the feelings followed. It feels much more organic that way, at least to me. Either way, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Also, in this version, they haven't had sex while in the canon version of how their relationship developed, they were very familiar with each other.


	4. A Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly this was written because I wanted to practice writing smut of any variety. So of course I turned it into angsty fluff.

It’s hard to describe the feeling of a witcher’s keep, mostly empty or no, to someone who has never been to one- or someone who lacks the connection. I guess you could call my manor a hideout of sorts, I mean I live there- right? But no, the cool stone of a keep has a completely different energy to it, like the magic and everything it’s been exposed to has somehow changed the stone itself. In the summer it’s refreshing to walk into the drafty main hall and get out of the sun, even high in the mountains at Kaer Y Seren it was like that. Winter was terrible up on that mountain top, I had a few winters under my belt at my home keep to attest to that.

But winter is when a keep comes alive.

So many of your numbers return to the place where their journeys on the Path began, the halls come alive with so much energies that the old stone almost feels like it’s buzzing. Despite the frigid wind and the mounting piles of snow that surround, I miss the warmth that came with listening to the tales of witchers much older than myself over games of dice and cards.

I’d venture to say Kaer Morhen was no different, housing the School of the Wolf and providing shelter for the many years it stood filled with similar memories.

And now, years long after the school’s prime and the remaining members scattered, there’s me. Well, us. I asked, no let me correct myself, mentioned once that I wanted to see where he trained. I wanted to run the walls like he used to. I wanted to look out over the Kaedwini valley and see things the way he used to.

I wanted so badly to understand him more since he barely talked about himself.

He told me stories of those he trained with, told me about helping train novices when he got old enough. But never anything more, he insisted his story really was not that interesting and would change the subject to anything but him- getting irritated if I tried to press for answers. And yet- here we are.

 

 

Cerissa sighed, her breath a warm puff of steam in the otherwise frigid air. She stretched, careful to keep under the relative warmth of the pile of pelts and blankets. Winter had long left the valley and yet the morning air still held some frost in it, small crystals forming on the heavy glass of the window. With a small shudder, she pressed back against her bed partner. Though some small part of her wanted to take advantage of him being asleep to explore one more time before their planned departure later in the day, another couldn’t bring herself to leave his side.

It was difficult to pinpoint exactly when the relationship she struggled to find words for shifted in her mind though she hadn’t expressed the change aloud. It had seemed simple in the beginning, or so she told herself. She was scared, young, and fascinated by this older witcher who numerous times stuck his neck out for her with no real reason to. If she asked, Eskel would insist it was because he was worried about her, blame his concern on a solidarity based out of their shared craft. But that solidarity hadn’t been what made her lean against him that first night while she bit back cries of pleasure in those dark woods. That solidarity hadn’t been what made him persuade her to come upstairs with him last night, trailing bites and kisses down her neck and shoulders while she read.

They were well beyond mutual respect, she thought to herself, rolling to look over his relaxed face. Dark hair messy, she struggled to keep herself from running her fingers through it in an attempt to tame the tangled mess. Eskel shifted in his sleep, the arm he had draped over Cerissa’s waist pulling her tighter. He muttered something, so thick with sleep she couldn’t make out what he said, but the sound of that grinding was enough to make her breath catch in her chest. She settled in his embrace, letting her eyes close and listen to his even heartbeat until she found herself drifting again.

  
  


_ A hand over her mouth, she thought for sure her fingers were going to leave marks in his thighs where she pushed against him in a desperate attempt to clear her thoughts. She squirmed against him, breaths coming faster until it felt like she was panting. He shushed her, biting at her neck and taking his hand away from her mouth. She shook, pressing back against him and trying her hardest not to scream out. _

_ Somewhere in the back of her mind, Cerissa questioned how they had gotten into this position. He had been sitting against a tree not far from where she tended to a small fire, watching her with a dark edge to his eyes that made a thick knot form in her stomach. And yet- _

_ Her breath caught again, trying to suppress a small scream, and pulled her back to the present. _

_ “Shh,” he practically purred in her ear, a new shock running through her. _

_ “Please,” she whimpered, one hand resting over his. _

_ There was the warm puff of a soundless laugh at her ear, “Please what? Come on, little fledgling.” He slid two fingers into her and she gasped, prompting another soft laugh. She squirmed against his hold, cursing the arm that held her in place when she tried to instead turn to face him. _

_ Her head swam and she cursed herself again, knowing the frustration must be obvious on her face. Each small movement of his fingers pulled another gasp from her but she fought the rising release, trying to swallow back whimpers even as he nibbled at her ear. _

_ “Let go, Cerissa,” he breathed, voice tense. _

  
  
  


A cool breeze, she shivered against it and curled into a tighter ball. There was a soft laugh and someone brushing her hair from her face. “I know you’re awake. Pleasant dreams?”

Cerissa instead set her jaw, opening her eyes and hating the soft look in Eskel’s eyes. He was supposed to be a wolf, she told herself. He was supposed to be feared and yet his almost golden eyes nearly glowed despite the fire in the braziers that dotted the room being long extinguished. She had kissed and nipped at every scar that littered his body, lips lingering on the one that ran along his inner thigh. How she had savored the way his breath caught, fingers tangling in her hair when her kisses instead trailed upwards.

Every twitch she pulled from him with each pass of her mouth long after he was spent only made her feel like she had stolen his fangs.

What he wouldn’t tell her was that he had loved tasting himself on her lips as they kissed, how each mark she left on his skin where her nails dug in only left him wanting more. She was supposed to have been simply someone he helped through a hard time, he lied to himself. He had been lying to himself since the beginning, after all.

He had always wanted her.

Cerissa smirked, pushing her hair out of her face. She shivered when she sat up and the blankets fell from around her, cold air rushing into the bubble of previously warm air. “In such great company? How could they not be?” She winked, tossing her hair, and her smile grew wider when she lit one of the braziers with a few simple shapes drawn with her fingers.

“It’s like breathing for you.”

“Griffins are the conjurers,” she muttered, thoughts already taking her elsewhere. “Always said if I hadn’t chosen the Path, I would have found magic anyway.”

“Come back to me, Cerissa,” Eskel whispered, one hand rubbing small circles at the small of her back.

“We should get packed,” she shook her head, but made no motion to get up. She instead tugged at one of the loose blankets, pulling it over her shoulders and sighing as she watched the flames dance.

“You alright?”

“I’m not quite sure anymore,” she sighed, stretching her arms over her head before untangling herself from the bed covers and getting to her feet.


	5. A Diversion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ball in which Cerissa doesn't have to work.

Red silk gown filling the hallway behind her, Cerissa grinned under her metallic mask. Adjusting the ribbon that held it in place and nodding her head in greeting to the butler who stood watch at the door, it felt completely different to be at a ball and not have to worry about every twitch and buzz of her ring or medallion. Forgoing both, the only thing that would have made it obvious who she was were hidden behind thin slits of eye holes. The scars that lined her arms and neck hidden under layers of draped silk, she had been addressed as any other lady of the court would have been.

Kuba exploring the main floor of the mansion thoroughly, he was more than eager to be out of arm's reach of his guardians. Approaching the duke himself about bringing a guest, the older man had laughed at the young witcher's insistence that since Amriel and Cerissa were allowed to bring dates, he should too. The smile on the duke's face had been gentle when he relented, teasing the boy about a young lady catching his attention.

Kuba hadn't bothered to correct him, instead quickly setting about making sure Mirek had a proper outfit.

The two recently teenaged boys quickly made themselves scarce, Kuba tugging the other along and effortlessly slipping through the tightly woven crowd. Amriel instead turned his attention to the gardens, pleading with Olwen to explore the labyrinth maze with him and genuinely surprised when she agreed with a soft smile. And as always, Cerissa found herself alone mostly alone amid a sea of silk. Curtseying to the duke on her way into the main ball room, his knowing smile showed even from behind his mask.

“It seems anyone with any of sort of renown is here tonight,” he noted in amusement, linking his arm with hers and leading her to a more secluded corner of the hall.

“Pardon?” Cerissa scowled, automatically doing a visual sweep of the room.

“His royal highness is in attendance this evening,” he provided, nodding towards a man dressed in a red silk doublet. Cerissa tensed, eyes narrowing and then taking note of the multiple plain clothes guards nearby. The duke's laugh filled their corner of the room, letting go of her arm to reach for two champagne flutes from the tray of a passing server. “You can take the swords from a witcher but they will remain so,” he handed a flute to her, holding his own aloft for several seconds before taking a sip.

“I'd like to call it a sign someone trained me right,” she snorted, sparing a glance at the incognito monarch and grudgingly taking a sip of the dry, bubbling wine. “Last two times I was at a ball, one I was nearly killed by a vampire with all of court watching and the second nearly framed for the murder of a nobleman's daughter who turned out to be an imposter.”

“The life of a living legend,” the duke shrugged, “You become a target.”

The wine caught in Cerissa's throat in the middle of a sip, a small gagging sound escaping her but she forced it down. Eyes going wide in surprise, the duke raised a hand as if to pat her back but she shook her head. The thought that she would be considered anything except the black sheep of court hadn't occurred to her recently, despite the looks that Mirek gave her when he thought she wasn't paying attention. Kuba often elbowed him to pull Mirek from his reverie, laughing when the other boy would scowl and puff his cheeks.

_“She's just a witcher,” Kuba would insist with a roll of his own cat-like eyes and a shrug._

_“You only say that because she's your mom!”_

“I've met a living legend,” Cerissa grinned, leaning against the railing with a soft sigh. “We're really not that big in real life.”

 

 

“You're nervous,” Olwen sighed, leaning her head on Amriel's shoulder. “Been spendin' too much time with the lass. You're gettin' to be too much like 'er.”

“Someone has to be serious,” Amriel grumbled, but still snorted out a nearly silent laugh. “Don't want to survey the snack tables or get something to drink?”

Olwen shook her head, pressing closer and closing her eyes with a soft sigh.

The gardens the company had collectively explored numerous times before on their own now stood mostly empty. The majority of the flowers long wilted from the chill that hung in the air, Amriel only had the passing thought that it had been a little over a year now that the group was changed forever with the addition of one orphan. Instead, he tried not to focus too closely to the calloused fingers that wormed their way into interlocking with his own. Almost two years now he and Olwen had been whatever they were and he would hate to admit it that he was closer to figuring out exactly what they were than the first night she found her way to his room after a night of drinking.

He opened his mouth, words catching on his tongue, and instead huffed out a heavy exhale. Resting his cheek against the top of her head, he listened to the soft giggling of a young woman far off as she called out to someone else in the maze. Olwen's breathing was measured, body relaxed where she had tucked herself against him.

 _I decided being anything to her was enough_ , Amriel remembered being told once, at the time taking comfort in the thought but now growing frustrated with the lack of clarity. He snorted, gripping Olwen's fingers a little tighter, and shushed her when she stirred against him at the sound of footsteps.

“Should be getting back to the party,” She grumbled when he pulled her against him.

“Olwen, please. Just give me a few minutes.”

She scrunched her nose up at him, squinting as if he was offering her a lemon. “Here?”

“Doesn't need to be anywhere else,” he shook his head, turning to face her before cupping her face in his hands. “Olwen, I-”

“Well, out with it. Cat got yer tongue?”

“No, but something with cat eyes certainly does.”

 

 

“Just like we practiced, okay? No one's going to care, I promise. They'll think we're practicing for our girlfriends or something.”

“I'm sure any of these girls would love to dance with you,” Mirek shuffled, fingers wiggling nervously at his sides.

His chin dropped to tuck against his chest and Kuba watched his eyes drift to where one of the gathered noble's daughter had been watching the two since they walked into the ballroom. Her interest at first seemed dampened with a pointed glare from Kuba, making an obvious reach for Mirek's hand even when he tried to break away and vanish into the crowd. But the reluctance of the other boy had given her hope, Kuba trying his hardest to hold back the groan gathering in his chest.

“I don't want to dance with them,” Kuba flinched inwardly at the sound of his own voice, his impatience with the constant observation cutting.

“You should,” Mirek huffed, tugging nervously at the light colored doublet he was wearing and leaning against the wall. “You're a marchioness' son.”

“No,” Kuba corrected, shaking his head. Closing his eyes for a moment, he forced himself to take a deep breath.

This was Mirek's first big fete, the first time someone was constantly watching him. And while Kuba fully expected whatever they were to only last until he left for his first year on the Path alone, he was trying to savor which parts of this he could. But he had spent the past year going to every party with Cerissa and getting used to being seen, even going with her on outings in town to get used to the shift in his senses.

Mirek had never rode a horse before Kuba helped him up on his most recent gift, a mostly white mare with a brown mask across her face. Mirek had squirmed the entire time the seamtress took his measurements, trying his best not to pull away each time the tape measure seemed too tight. Mirek wasn't used to the same things that Kuba took for granted. Servants asking him if he needed anything seemed more like background noise, even the heavily floral smells of the women's perfume more a minor annoyance.

“You are. There's no difference, Kuba. You're being groomed for both. Sure, you're handy with a sword but you can also waltz.”

“Mirek.”

He huffed, “This just isn't-”

“Eskel grew up in a keep in the Kaedweni mountains, not seeing much of the outside world until he was older than me. He's avoided because of his appearance. He doesn't have a taste for crowds, trust me he doesn't. And yet he comes to these stupid parties. Why?”

Mirek puffed his cheeks with a shrug as Kuba continued. “Because it makes Cerissa happy. Because being here for her puts her at ease even when he feels like a fox with its paw in a trap. He hates silk doublets and fancy cheeses. A good time to him is when we all stay up late and they get drunk playing dice and cards. He detests all the plotting and secrets at these silly things.”

“But he likes how she looks in a dress,” Mirek added in a quiet mumble.

Kuba nodded, “He realizes this is the world she grew up in.” He motioned to the ballroom around them, his wide smile showing even from beneath his mask. “She's a witcher, yeah, but her world is courtly intrigue and whispers in the dark. Her world is dusty books and magic.”

Kuba sighed, stopping himself. “Look, I know it's uncomfortable for you. I know you'd rather be in our sheet and blanket fort playing gwent with my beat up, hand me down cards.”

“I liked riding a horse for the first time.”

Kuba couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him, “And I need more practice riding her anyway! Look, Mirek, point I was trying to make-”

“I know what you were trying to say,” Mirek smiled, pushing off the wall and linking arms with Kuba. “You always get carried away when you talk about them. How about this: each dance you get out of me is another horseback ride. Deal?”

“Are you bargaining with me?”

“Think of it this way, oh brave witcher,” Mirek could barely hold back his own laugh, grin splitting his lips so that his teeth showed. “It's the terms of a contract.”

 

 

“You're not here to work,” Eskel sighed, sliding an arm around Cerissa's waist and pulling her closer. “Relax. Let yourself enjoy the party. I've got your back.”

She huffed instead, pursing her lips as she surveyed the ballroom. Light colors seemed to be the fashion this season, brilliant shades of yellow and green making up the majority of the dresses. Of course she would also note they were some of the least expensive dyes, her own vibrant red much more costly. Servants were mostly human, dressed in plainer colors that almost disappeared into the crowd. Many of them Cerissa could easily recognize despite their masks, and some a few even paused to bow to her as they passed.

“Thank you,” a woman muttered, earning herself a sharp glare from another man.

“You're becoming quite the hero.”

“Believe me, I almost choked on my wine when the duke called me a living legend,” she scowled, settling more comfortably against his side.

“Being a witcher alone would qualify you.”

“I saved a few people from a forktail a few years back and keep the docks free of drowners,” she grumbled.

He laughed softly, more a puff of warm air, and ducked his head to nuzzle at her ear. “And fought a vampire in front of them. And exposed the count for being a traitor. And have worked for the king. And-”

“Small things. I haven't saved the world or anything,” Cerissa scowled, tossing her head.

To her, it was small. All of these things were tasks that she did with barely any second thought and yet they saw as borderline miraculous. At one time she would have been spat on and been the subject of every dark whisper muttered behind those gilded hand fans. While there were some that would never come around to the idea of a monster hunter having such a prominent place at court, most had gradually come around to seeing her more frequently at fetes and soirees.

_“She wasn't this bold until that mutt came to town,” a woman grumbled when Cerissa strode past on her way in, not bothering to hide the sneer her half mask afforded her behind her hand fan. “She should just go back to her rock.”_

_Cerissa only smiled and curtseyed deeply to the countess, wishing her a pleasant evening. The countess fell still for barely longer than a heartbeat, staring slack jawed while Cerissa straightened herself. “Beautiful shoes you have, my lady. But I see they're lacking the jewels they had last season.”_

_“How dare-” She gasped, fanning herself harder when Cerissa only offered a half hearted smile in return. “You were nothing until-”_

_“I have always been something. He just reminded me what I'm worth.”_

 

 

“Remember, I step forward, you step back with the opposite foot.”

Mirek's smile had faded when Kuba lead him down the stairs and onto the dance floor proper. Mirek's fingers dug into Kuba's arm where they rested, gnawing at his lip when he looked up to see the people watching from the upper floor of the ballroom. Kuba smiled knowingly at how his heartbeat quickened, breath catching for a moment, and he swallowed despite his mouth surely going dry.

“Kuba, I don't-”

“Pretend we're in the foyer at the manor. Pretend we're just playing cards,” Kuba gently coaxed Mirek's fingers loose from his sleeve, his skin slick with ointment Kuba had rubbed into it before they left the manor that afternoon. He grimaced, knowing Cerissa would raise an eyebrow at the small grease stain on his sleeve, but quickly let his face melt back into an easy smile.

“But they're watching,” Mirek dropped his gaze to the floor, trying to tug his hand back from Kuba.

“Give them something worth while. Let them talk, they're going to no matter what.” Kuba sighed, tugging him along gently. “Remember when you said you weren't anything to anyone? I believe congratulations are in order.” He suddenly pulled Mirek close, bumping foreheads with him. “You're a witcher's boyfriend. To them, you're now something to watch.”

Mirek flushed, heart suddenly pounding so loudly Kuba nearly winced. His hands got sweaty, making them even more slippery, and looked up as a few of the women turned to the person next to them. “Must you?”

“Have to show you off,” Kuba loosened his grip and flashed a lopsided grin that somehow made the other boy feel more at ease. “Come on. Let's dance.”

 

 

That bloody marchioness, a countess thought to herself as she paced the entryway. Surely there had to be a way to level the playing field, there had to be some dark secret she was hiding that would humiliate her if somehow it was mentioned to just the right person at the right time. But the marchioness lived so openly, she had no delusions about what she was or even made an effort to hide it. She was one of those bloody killers, a mutant for hire. The countess' stomach turned whenever the marchioness passed with that thing that she called her son. He had those same piercing eyes, that same look that made the countess want to scream. And yet she fawned over the little freak, would pause to make sure he could keep up with her while they walked through a crowded room and would stop someone if they tried to speak over him when he was talking to her. To treat such a vile abomination with the respect that she would grant a normal person was inexcusable, and yet she would demand an apology if another member of court interrupted them while he was talking. She would ask his opinion on matters. She would clear her throat pointedly when someone did not use his proper titles or name and instead called him a child or simply boy.

He was no better than her, and yet she tried to make it seem as though he was made of gold.

The countess paused, a smile tugging at her lips. The little freak had come with another whom he pulled along by a greased hand that smelled heavily of yarrow. Surely there was something there. She pursed her lips, considering her options, and gathered up her skirts before turning to return to the ballroom.

Gently flowing music greeting her as the door swung open, she took a goblet of wine from a passing server's tray and turned her attention to the dance floor. There was some excited chatter amongst those who were watching, someone tugging at her arm to pull her closer to the railing so she could see more easily as the marchioness' little pet dipped his accompaniment for the night.

He bent to whisper something to the other boy, smiling when the other laughed, and seemed to glare at the eyes that watched him as they straightened. He held the other boy tenderly, whispering to him with almost each step.

 

 

“You're doing fine,” Kuba grinned even when Mirek accidentally stepped on his toes, only letting go to bow once the dance was over. “See? Nearly painless.”

“What's the point of masks if everyone already knows who you are?” Mirek grumbled, taking Kuba's arm and grateful to be lead away from the dance floor. “There wasn't a single doubt in anyone's heads of who we were.”

“We're also kids,” he shrugged, “How many kids do you see coming to these things, much less dancing? So of course it's a give away.”

“So again, why wear the masks? Seems pointless.”

“The same reason anything happens in court,” Kuba laughed, “Drama.”

 

 


End file.
